


drive me home with the windows down

by TheLexFiles



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Freakytits - Freeform, Gen, I had a thought and I wanted to write it out, Inspired by Music, One Shot, This is my first FT fic in months be gentle, all in the small acts, anyway enjoy, it's subtle but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLexFiles/pseuds/TheLexFiles
Summary: Joan gives Vera a ride home after working a double shift. Too tired to object, Vera obliges the Governor.





	drive me home with the windows down

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely inspired by Now Now's song 'Drive'. The lyrics aren't exactly 100% on for what I wrote, but the song is a Mood and inspired it so... read on.

“Let me take you home, Vera.”

The Governor’s voice echoes against the drab walls of her office. The late-night hour quickly approaches, and both women bear the exhaustion of a double shift. Orange light fills the room between the slats of the blinds only briefly until Joan closes them, gathering her belongings and coat. 

Vera looks exhausted. Shoulders slumped, bags beneath her eyes heavier than the one in her hand. 

A mother’s illness takes its toll on a burden-bearing daughter. 

“Guvna, I’m fine –” 

“I insist. You’re in no state to drive,” Joan retorts; while tonight has been spent engaged in rigorous paperwork rather than a few drinks in the Governor’s office, she knows how exhaustion creeps in and settles behind bleary eyes. 

A simple act of misjudgment could mean the end of life as she knows it. 

Vera intends to protest again, but a simple granite stare ends the thought where it began, and her lips purse together. Instead, she relents to slipping her arms through her coat, following her mentor’s lead. 

The walk to the car park is spent in silence, punctuated with the click of heels (a slower pace; by the end of a double, even the ever formidable Governor in uniform is tired on her feet). A quick gesture procures a set of keys for the sleek black sedan parked perfectly in the assigned spot. 

Joan opens the passenger side for her guest; a small act of chivalry for those that pay attention. 

With a shared glance, Vera ducks her head and falls into the leather seat. Even with two years of mileage, Ferguson’s vehicle smells new, even unused in some regard. Like her office, it remains pristine. 

Joan enters. While accompanied by another, her routine remains the same: her bag is placed in the backseat, the keys are turned in the ignition, seatbelt clicked into place, air is circulated, and heat turned one notch up on the dial, and one by one, leather gloves adorn bare hands. She adjusts the rear-view mirror and puts the car in drive. 

“How has your mother been?” Breaking the silence, Joan’s words cut above the hum of the engine as they leave the parking lot, and through the gates. 

“No change,” Vera begins; it takes too much effort to soften the truth, though she needn’t with Joan. “She seems stable some days, and others… others the pain is…” A sigh follows; she rests her arm against the glass of the cold window, head in her hand. The insufferable wailing plagues her home life. “The nurse hasn’t complained, but…”

“It’s difficult.”

“I know it’s…they’re trying everything they can, but nothing seems to last long enough,” Quietly, Vera discloses the thoughts trapped in her mind. It’s been apparent since Joan has lent a helping hand that this is far beyond her control, far beyond what she is capable. 

Joan spares a look from the corner of her eye at her passenger. Street lights quickly pass by and illuminate Vera’s profile; frizzy hairs adorn her head like a shallow halo, and the lines in her face have deepened in the dark. Despite the exhaustion that runs in her veins, she is beautiful. 

“You can only do so much, Vera.” Returning to the road, Joan counts the dotted dashes along the centre as they drive past, losing count as she accelerates to speed. A hand reaches to the console and ups the heat. The lights of the button reflect against the black leather, dancing between the lines. “You’ll sooner run yourself into the ground with this. It would be a… shame to see you in such a state.”

“Governor, I –”

“Joan.”

“Joan, I… she’s my mother.”

“So?” Joan turns her head briefly as they come to an intersection and stop. “From what I’ve seen, she treats you poorly. She should be so lucky to have a daughter who cares.”

Taken aback, Vera falls into silence as the car turns down the next road. This ride feels elongated when she isn’t behind the wheel, distracted by the act of driving itself. Her hands wring together, shifting in her seat to sit up. Tired as she feels, she’s still in the presence of a woman so respected, admired, feared. Swallowing the lump in her throat, a brief nod follows. 

Joan’s right, as she usually is. 

“I just –” The crack in Vera’s voice becomes evident, even over the sounds of the road and other vehicles passing, even this late at night. She tries desperately to keep it in, but even in the dark, she can’t hide the quiver of her lip. A hand covers her face, rubbing at her eyes. “She’s never happy. Nothing is ever enough. I don’t… I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.”

Truth spills out with tears rolling down gaunt cheeks. Quickly, Vera dabs them away, and out of exhaustion, heat rises to her face. This is not the place nor time to let everything fall where it may. “Can I… can I roll down a window? Please.”

Despite the chill autumn air, Joan obliges, pressing a button and allowing the glass on Vera’s side to half mast. Immediately, the rush of air relieves the sudden flush. It makes tears sting far less. 

They drive without words for the remainder of the journey to Vera’s childhood home. Pulling up to the curb, Joan sets her car into park, and turns the ignition off. The silence is deafening; already, Vera can hear the hallowing wails of her bed-ridden mother, like ghosts that haunt her from night unto day.

Immediately, she reaches for her things, and goes to open the door but a gloved hand catches her forearm. 

Wait.

“Vera,” Joan begins. Her husky voice is soft; this isn’t a demand but a plea. “I know where your obligations lie. But you need to think of yourself. Something like this is… unbelievably difficult. Throwing yourself to the wolves to please a dying woman will cost you.”

“I’m not trying to…” Denial comes but fades just as easily. She’s defeated, prolonging the inevitable by staying in place in the safe confines of the Governor’s car. “She’s still my mother. I know, eventually that this will… it’ll end.”

But not soon enough. 

Joan lets her hand fall away, but not before giving a squeeze. It’s merely a reassurance – and all she can give. 

“But how much more can you take?”

Heavy is the burden of the child to a parent. Joan’s question lingers in the air. Ocean eyes turned gray in this light peer towards her mentor, a friend. Tears fill to the brim. The same hand reaches forward once more, this time to pointedly brush away a tear or two with a thumb. The gesture comes from a rare kindness, shared in secrecy.

“I don’t know.”

It’s the only answer Vera can give. Run into the ground as it is, the only place that waits her further is hell. 

And maybe, she’s already living in it. 

“I’d just… I’d hate to see you fail because of this. You have so much more ahead of you.” With me. “I think… you need to consider your future.” The thought of Rita Bennett, bed-ridden while still ridiculing her daughter for never being good enough, resonates. While her own father had never fallen ill, the sentiment remains the same. Only so much can be done, and it is so often, never enough. 

“I will,” Meekly, Vera answers. Joan’s hand falls away for good this time, but the act won’t go unforgotten. Warmth lingers where her touch once was. The sound of night life reminds her of the time, and she puts up the window. “I should… I should go.”

“Let me walk you to the door.”

Even with the short walk across the street, Joan finds it necessary to escort her weary deputy to her home. Waiting for Vera, she falls in behind the other woman, and a hand finds the small of her back. She guides as she supports: I’m here for you. 

“Thank you, for bringing me home, Joan.” A small yawn escapes and Vera raises a hand to her mouth. Two women stand on the step under porch light. Parting ways becomes harder the longer they remain. Joan stays out of reluctance to see her go; Vera remains out of dread for the demands placed upon her the second she enters the threshold, reliving the nurse of duties beyond her payroll.

“Think about what I said. There comes a point in which you need to make a decision,” Here, she means putting Vera first, though the suggestion of something more lies beneath the surface. She won’t mention it now. 

“I know. I know.” A breath of fresh air barely recovers energy. She could collapse on this porch and stay the night on the concrete, and it would be less of a punishment. Her hands begin to wring together, until Joan’s reaches for her own. Another gesture of comfort that won’t last long enough, but she holds them still, fingers interlocking for just a moment. 

“I’ll pick you up in the morning. 8am sharp. Try to get some sleep,” She pauses. Blue eyes beg as much as they plea for relief, but tonight, Joan cannot oblige her. Some lines cross too deep. “Goodnight, Vera.”

And with that, she leaves her deputy with her burden to bear.


End file.
